The Queen
by RoaOAI
Summary: Clopin decides to tell a story
1. An Introduction

**(This is based off the Disney movie with maybe occasional refrences to the book. Also, I own just as much as every other hopeless fangirl, which is to say, nothing. Please be kind and tell me if you like it or hate it, or whatever you think needs work. Pretty please.)**

_Ah, Bonjour. You are here for a story, yes? Which one shall Clopin tell you. The Bellringer? No, you've heard that one. What about la Belle et la B- non, too simple for you. What was that? A story about me? Well, I have many stories, mon ami, and many that I cannot tell you. But maybe, just maybe, there is One._

_Everyone in Paris called her the "La Riene des Ennuis," the Queen of Trouble. She founded the Court of Miracles, and was the thorn in Judge Claude Frollo's side for many, many years. This once, I remember… But non, I get ahead of myself. I shall start where all stories must start, at the beginning, with an introduction._

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><p>"Clopin! Clopin Trouillefou! Get your hand off that scarf and come here!" Ashamed at being caught, the seven year old dropped the silk he'd been trying to look at and walked over to his mother, across the busy flow of traffic in the market. She was there, all five foot nothing of her, bustling around talking to one of her friends who held the hand of a girl not much younger than himself. He paused for a second to look at what an odd group they made. His mother, short and plump, her face alive with vibrant energy contrasted highly with the tall, sickly woman she spoke to. The girl was malnourished, and her dark hair was cropped short roughly, but signs of her beauty still shone through. For example, she had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen.<p>

"Marie, please." The thin woman's eyes were begging. " I cannot feed her on the road. I must leave Paris, it is not safe for me here any longer. Not with her father searching for us every day" My mother stopped, and turned to her. "And if I do? He will only find me! I don't need him causing me trouble, too!"

Clopin felt his eyes wander away, bored with the conversation. They were drawn to a brightly colored corner of the market where a girl with skin too dark to be gypsy sat and sang. Absentmindedly, he grabbed the green eyed girl's hand and pulled her after him, until they both stood in front of the Singer.

"Salut, mon petit gypsies." She finished her song and looked up at them. Her eyes sparkled a little, and Clopin drew himself up to his full height to give her a look.

"My mother said to ignore anybody who called me that." He said, with all the forceful conviction of a child. The little girl by his side shrank down and said, in something barely above a whisper, "People call me and my mama that all the time." The singer's eyes softened slightly, looking at the two of them, but she raised an eyebrow at him.

"I merely call something what it is. That is a goat. This is a coin. You are gypsies. You understand, yes? Whatever else people mean when they say it is up to them. To me, a thing is a thing, and what it does rules how you treat it." The younger girl looked up at the older one, her green eyes wide.

"When people call me and mama gypsies they don't mean nice things. Do you mean not nice things too?" The singer, who Clopin judged to be about 20 tilted her head to the side and scooped up the little green eyed girl, settling her on her lap.

" What is your name, Petit?"

" Esmeralda, Madame"

"Well, Esmeralda, I know nothing not nice attached to that name, and so I shall treat you as something new, and undiscovered. How does that sound to you?" Esmeralda, the green eyed girl, nodded happily, and hugged the singer. Clopin just watched this interchange with fascination. This was SO much better than whatever their mothers were talking about, in his mind.

At that moment, he heard a yell of frustration, and turned to look. Someone was racing through the marketplace, dodging from stall to stall, followed by an enraged baker.

"Damn you, you salaud(bastard)!" Clopin heard him yell, and reflexively covered Esmeralda's ears. She didn't need to hear language like that. The thief screeched to a halt in front of them, panting for breath, and grinning cheekily at them.

The singer rolled her eyes upwards and sighed heavily. "What would father say if he were here now. 'Ah, mon petit larron (my little thief), what names did the baker call you today?'" Her voice deepened in imitation. Clopin examined the thief, who had begun pulling rolls out of his pockets. He wore a long, shapeless tunic of an indistinguishable color, and hose of something slightly darker. On his head, he wore a battered old cap that almost completely covered his hair. He had the same dark skin as her sister, but his eyes were shining blue instead of black. He was a little taller than Clopin, and maybe four years older. Sweat rolled down his face from the run, but he didn't seem to care overmuch.

"Well, he isn't here, is he?" His voice was light, easy, calm. "His last words to you were 'Stay good.' His last words to me were 'Take care of yourself.' Your staying good, and I'm taking care, so he can't really complain, now can he?" Busily, he tore both of the rolls in half, and offered one to his sister, one to Esmeralda, and one to Clopin. Esmeralda grabbed hers and ate it like she was afraid it would vanish at any moment. The singer ate quickly as well, but less desperately. The Thief tore into his also, and Clopin slowly took a bite. It was good, and fresh. 'and Stolen' whispered a little voice in his head, making him feel a little guilty. 'I didn't steal it.' He whispered back, and took a bigger bite.

The thief eyed the children cautiously.

"Can you keep a secret?" All hints of joking were gone now.

Both nodded solemnly. The Thief pulled off his cap, and threw it down into the corner. Tightly braided hair fell down his back. He pulled up something else, something yellow, and hid behind his sister for a few moments. She began singing again, and Esmeralda clapped along to the beat happily. Presently, the thief stepped back out, wearing a yellow dress and unbraiding his hair, and he was a he no more. Clopin stared at the young girl who now stood before him, better dressed and, honestly, rather pretty. She grinned at him, winked, and started singing with her sister. Clopin just stared. The thief, who he'd thought was a boy, had just turned into a girl with long black hair and blue eyes. He thought about it for a moment or two, before asking her her name.

"Jeanne." She sang out, instead of the word she was supposed to be singing, setting Esmeralda off laughing. Jeanne ignored the break and continued the song, substituting her own words.

"And what is your name?" she sang, making them all laugh. Clopin held his sides and tried to stop laughing long enough to tell her.

"They call me Clo-"

"CLOPIN TROUILLEFOU!" His mother. Again. The look on his face must have been hilarious, because even Jeanne could not keep a straight face. He heard his mother bustle up behind him, and sigh a little.

"There you are. Gave me such a scare. Bonjour, girls. Esmeralda, come here, please. I need to talk to you." She dragged the two of them away a little and got down on her knees.

"Esmeralda, I have some bad news, dear. Your mama needs to leave for a while. She would like you to come and live with Clopin and me." Clopin felt his jaw drop. Esmeralda's mother was abandoning her? Her green eyes were calm, and just a little sad.

"She said she'd have to leave." Her voice trembled, just a little. "But she said if I was good enough maybe someone would take me in. I've been really, really good. May I come and stay with you? Please?" Clopin's mother had tears in her eyes as she hugged the little girl tightly.

"Of course you may, love. Of course you may."

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><p><em>There, that is a beginning fit for the story. We went and visited the sisters many times, learning simple songs and tricks, but we didn't see the Thief up to her tricks again for close to three years. But, don't you worry, her part in this story is far from over.<em>


	2. The Turning Point

**I'm sorry it's been so long! please forgive me? **

_ Hello again. It has been some time, yes? I'm sorry, but life is not inclined to wait, no matter how fascinating the story. Clopin will continue from where I left off last time._

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><p>It had been weeks since we had visited Jeanne and Chante, the older sister. All our mother would tell us was that it was too dangerous to go to the market anymore. That we could be arrested simply for being there and buying things. Ah, mon dieu, twas a terrible time to be gypsy. People would spit at us for walking down the street. But, my story continues on from this dark time, with a little ray of something akin to hope.<p>

"Marie! Open up! Before I knock down this door!" Jeanne whispered hoarsely, knocking as loud as she dared. She knew damn well why Marie had been keeping herself and the kids locked up here. It wasn't safe for gypsies on the streets of Paris anymore, even decent ones who'd been living here longer than the guards arresting them. Under the new judge, anyone who looked even slightly out of place was under suspicion.

"Come in, come in," the door opened, and Jeanne heard the whisper. Surreptitiously, she slipped inside. "Jeanne. Dieu merci, your safe. How is Chante?"

"Fine, we're fine Marie." She looked around the house curiously, noting the half finished dress in one corner, and the bread dough rising on the counter. She took a deep breath, and turned back to face the round, middle aged woman. She was only fourteen. How could she possibly- No. She would not think like that. Something needed to be done, and she would help.

"We need to ask a favor." Marie's hands stopped, and shrewd, world-wise eyes found the younger face. "We're calling a meeting of as many gy-" She swallowed, remembering Marie's distaste for the name, "As many Gypsies as possible. Something needs to be done. Not everyone has safe walls and thick doors to keep the Guardsmen out."

Marie's eyes flicked away, guilty. She knew that things couldn't continue the way they had been, but she still feared getting caught if she left.

"When." "Tonight, the basement of the old Theatre." Deep sigh. "If I am caught, what will happen to Clopin and Esmeralda?" Jeanne's blue eyes met her brown ones honestly.

"We will not abandon them, ever."

"I will be there."

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><p>Clopin leaned back, away from the doorway, his eleven-year old face screwed up in anger. His mother was going to be leaving tonight, and he would bet good money that he and Esme would get left behind. Of course, she couldn't go along. She was eight, much too young for such important talks, but to his mind he was plenty old enough. The indecency of it all! Getting left behind! He wouldn't just sit back and let his mother get caught or something. So, he formed his plan.<p>

He pretended to sleep, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, all the while thinking about his plan. Focusing, he heard his mother move here and there around the house, and mutter in annoyance when something jingled. Every nerve in Clopin's body was alive with curiosity, but he could not go check. If he did, she'd know he hadn't been sleeping, so he held himself as still as possible. After an eternity, the big front door squeaked open, and closed. Instantly, he was up on his feet, whipping on his clothes as silently and quickly as he could. Esmeralda was sleeping right next door, after all. Therefore, imagine his shock when he crept downstairs, just to see Esme standing there, waiting for him.

"Where's Mother going?" She whispered, peering at him through the dark.

"To a Gypsy Meeting." Clopin was about to send Esmeralda back to her bed, to sleep, when he saw the joy on her face.

"Really? You're going, right? Can I come? Please?" She was so excited, he simply couldn't find it in his heart to turn her down. Those big green eyes.

"Fine. Grab your stuff." She always had a bundle that she kept with her. It had food, clothes, her favorite doll, everything really important to her. An aftereffect of her years on the street, Clopin thought. She carried it with her everywhere.

The found their way easily, simply because everyone else who was out that night was also headed there. The old theatre was filled with people, chattering dark skinned gypsies. Esmeralda leaned closer to Clopin and stared at the multitudes, her eyes wide. A few moments after they got settled, a thin, lithe figure vaulted onto the stage. She turned to help someone else, an older girl, up behind her.

"Everyone!" The crowd settled slowly, focusing itself on the two. "You know why we've called you here. Things can't continue the way they have. Senseless arrests? No trial, no crime, only punishment? Someone has to stand up to them!" Her voice was strong, but there were voices of dissent among the crowd.

"Lookit ye, jest a kid. What can ye do t'help us? An' why'd you want to?" Voices yelled from the crowd.

"There is a place. Me and my sister have rights to it as our own, from our father." The dark girl yelled back. Clopin saw Chante put her hand on her sister's shoulder, and he recognized her expression as worried. Jeanne smiled slightly.

"If there is a place, would you go? Not just brigands and thieves, but honest people, too? Start up our own market, of sorts?" The response was uproarious. Gypsy mothers, decent people, who'd been unable to work or buy food for months yelled as loud as they could in agreement. It took a long time to let the cry die down, but when it did one man stood up from the crowd. He looked at the sisters carefully, his face strong and proud. A leader.

"If there is such a place, we will go." His voice rang with the conviction of the entire room.

"How many of you are on the streets?" Chante's voice was smooth and clear. "Try to find somewhere else to stay. The home of a friend, for example. Rough types will be filling the streets tonight." This announcement caused a stir among the gypsies, but they settled quick enough. Slowly, they began to trickle out in groups of two to five. The Leader stayed at the front, and a few other gypsies came up to talk to the sisters as well. Clopin and Esme snuck outside, and realized promptly that they were totally lost.

Boys, older, tougher boys collected in one corner, clearly waiting for someone. Clopin recognized Jeanne when she walked outside, because he'd seen the Thief's jaunty walk before. The Thief walked with Chante, introducing her to the gang who awaited them. All the boys treated her as an equal lad, and headed out after being joined by a large group of armed gypsy men. Jeanne led the mob. The children followed, fascinated by the bubbling group of men. They followed all the way to the gates of the cemetery. There, they paused, Esme tugging on Clopin's sleeve a little. She wanted to go in there, too, but she was worried. Instead of going home, however, they waited for a moment before slipping down after the big people. There were loud voices, protesting male voices, and the children followed them further into the sewers.

"Look, all of you have a choice. You can leave, or you can stay if you swear to abide by our laws." Chante was polite, reasonable. The male voices still muttered though, until one spoke up, yelling above the crowd.

"An' 'ow do we know yer really 'is kids?"

Another male voice responded.

"Ye've got eyes, dontcha? They've got the mark."

Clopin and Esmeralda crept foreward in the tunnel until they could see the room. Jeanne was pulling down her sleeve over her forearm, covering something. Big, rough men stood in a semicircle around the gypsies. Their tents were there as well, but most of the huge room was empty, and dark. Just as the children reached the entrance, the men seemed to make up their minds. About half grudgingly went and tore down their tents, packing up and leaving under the stern eye of the gypsy men. The other half went off with Chante. The Thief and her gang of boys headed back to the tunnel that Clopin and Esme hid in.

"What have we here?" Clopin nearly jumped out of his skin when the boy spoke from right behind him. A strong hand clamped around his collar and lifted him off his feet. No matter how much he struggled he couldn't get away. The older boy grabbed Esmeralda's arm, and dragged the two of them out, where the Thief could see them.

"Caught 'em sneaking around." He told the Thief when she raised an eyebrow at his unusual baggage.

"Huh. Well, put them down. I know these two." Clopin was set gently back on his feet, and he brushed at his clothes unhappily. His mother would kill him if this tunic was dirty tomorrow. The Thief surveyed them both slowly before turning to the gang.

"You four, come with me. I need to get these two rascals home, before their mother finds their beds empty." The boys nodded, including the big one who'd picked Clopin up earlier.

As they walked, he introduced himself as Pierre, and apologized for earlier. They both forgave him. The Thief took them through several back roads and alleyways, until Clopin began to recognize the neighborhood they here in.

"Nice area." Pierre noted, "But does it always smell like fire?"

It was true. The air was smelling smokier and smokier the closer they got to home, but it wasn't until they rounded the corner that Clopin realized what was burning. Their home was engulfed in flame, and their mother stood in front of it, tears running down her face. Men on horseback stood on either side of her. One held a torch. He was a thin, pale man with hard features. His eyes never moved from their mother's face. Clopin started to run foreward, his face contorting with anger, but for the second time that day he was picked up, lifted off his feet, and one of Pierre's hands clamped over his mouth. They slipped back quietly, The Thief holding Esmeralda and Pierre carrying Clopin.

The last thing that Clopin heard was the pale man saying loudly, to everyone,

"The ground is purified of the Gypsy's contamination. She will be brought back to the palace of justice for questioning."

With that simple statement, he tugged on the rope tied around their mother's wrists, and rode away.

Esmeralda cried, holding tight to her bundle of things, everything they had left. Eleven year old Clopin glared after the pale man on his black horse, and for the first time felt Hatred.

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><p><em>That is as much as I can tell you tonight. Tomorrow perhaps, you will hear more. Certainly, there will not be as long a wait this time.<em>


	3. Rising Action

**I'm sorry it's been so long, I'm a horrible person for letting school get in the way. Please forgve me? yes, i know I said that before, but it's still true!**

_Bonjour. Shall we continue with the story? Yes? Then get comfortable, and let us continue._

_Esmeralda and Clopin were taken in by the sisters after our mother's arrest. The court under Paris soon filled with Gypsies seeking refuge, and it was given a name. Those who'd supposedly died, or been captured, even those who'd been publicly executed appeared there in the living flesh. It became a place of light and color, part market and part permanent festival. They named it The Court of Miracles, and Jeanne was its Queen, La Reinne des Ennuis._

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><p>Jeanne lazed, her long sixteen year old frame draped elegantly across her throne. Chante stood to one side, the voice of reason, but they all knew she could not lead. Her heart was too soft to make difficult decisions, and she was too likely to be bullied into a corner by her 'subjects.' Jeanne didn't let that happen to her. She was tougher than her older sister in most regards, except when it came to Clopin and Esmeralda. Part of being la Reinne was supervising activities usually seen as criminal. Chante was always careful to hold now fifteen Clopin and eleven year old Esmeralda away from anything on the wrong side of the law. Of course, Jeanne only viewed that as a challenge. However, she never let them steal for her. She taught them how to pick locks and pockets, but would not allow them to get caught.<p>

Clopin surveyed the three women in his life as they stood together. Esmeralda was growing into a beauty, her hair long and dark by now. She was still his baby sister in his mind, and so it was strange to see her in long skirts and facepaint. He had to admit, however, that she was one of the best dancers he'd ever seen. Chante was like his aunt by now, always sewing something or other, and singing in her sweet voice. She was still pretty, too, and Clopin knew her boyfriend was planning to propose to her before the year was out. Jeanne was, well, Jeanne. She still wore her oversized hat and men's clothing, even though everyone knew she was a girl by now. Despite the male clothes, however, she wore kohl around her eyes, and paint on her lips. It was an odd effect, but one she wore very well. She had no boyfriend, and seemed to have no desire for one. As she said 'The duties of Queen keep me busy enough already.'

Five years had passed since their mother's arrest. In that time, they'd gotten to know the name of the pale man all too well. Judge Claude Frollo. He personally was the reason that the gypsies had had to run and hide. And Clopin still hated him.

"Clopin!" he cringed slightly as he turned. It was one of his 'fangirls,' pseudo stalkers who were intent on using him to get closer to the queen, and all her power.

"Clopin, would you dance at the festival with me?" Marie Suzette blinked her long, dark lashes up at him and latched onto his arm.

He tried to find some way to deny her politely, but as he scrambled someone else stepped in.

"I'm sorry, but I've already claimed him." Jeanne appeared behind the pair, and smiling carefully at the girl, pulled Clopin away. Marie Suzette pouted.

"Merci. I though I was trapped."

Jeanne laughed for a moment, but focused again.

"I was telling the truth though, I need you to do my introduction."

Clopin turned to stare at her, his expression shocked.

"Your dancing?" his voice was flatly disbelieving.

She flushed slightly, and nodded.

"I need to do something, so they won't be expecting la Reinne to do anything else."

"Okay, when?" She smiled a little at him.

"Right after Esmeralda and Chante's dance. Introduce me as La Sirene, then get out of the way, alright?"

Clopin nodded. He understood. Also, this way, he'd get to see Esme dance. She liked that.

The Feast Of Fools was always dramatic, and ever since the Court of Miracles was formed, it had been getting more and more lawless. This was, if fact, the only day of the year that La Reinne ruled all of Paris, instead of just it's back streets. Clopin stood 'Backstage' and tugged at his shirt. It was Chante's gift to him, a bright suit of yellow, blue and purple. It came with a mask. He smiled brightly as Esmeralda as she came off, still a little dizzy from all the spinning she'd been doing. He slipped out, and swallowed some nerves. Why were there SO many people out here?

Clopin found Pierre's face, and nodded a little.

"Ladies and gentleman!" He cried theatrically, praying his voice didn't crack.

"La Sirene!" With that, he flipped himself forward, off the stage, right to Pierre's side. He wobbled a bit on his landing, but the bigger boy caught him, and steadied him. The simple flip actually got some applause, but it died out really quickly when Jeanne just… appeared.

She was wearing a dress. That was the first thing that managed to get through all the shock in Clopin's head. The dress was Blue and Green, and black. It shimmered and hugged curves Clopin hadn't realized Jeanne had. And then she started dancing. She moved with the sort of boneless, effortless grace cats have too much of, and women never really seem to accomplish. The music was slow, with no real beat. It just flowed on smoothly, providing a background for the dance.

Jeanne spun forward very slowly, making each movement and glance speak of nothing but desire. Every eye was locked on her.

Especially Clopin's.

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><p>Jeanne didn't really have to focus on the dance anymore. She knew the moves, from hours spent practicing with Chante. This was the dance that caught her father for her mother. This was the dance that turned every eye and wrapped itself in every breath, until the audience was gasping for breath.<p>

Unbeknownst to them, four of her best Gypsies were climbing up the outside of Notre Dame. The bells had always rung in the Feast of Fools, before Claude Frollo. At least once in the day, the bells would ring, before.

Monsieur Judge had decided that the bells would only ring for holidays he approved of.

The Court of Miracles disagreed.

Jeanne spun, and twisted her spine around so her hair spun through the air after her. One arm lifted gracefully above her head and she froze, watching out of the corner of her eyes for the flash at the top of the tower.

There!

Her hand fell, and the bells chimed, filling the air with music.

The guards stirred, and she smirked at the look of shock and horror on Frollo's face.

She grabbed a pinch of glitter from her pouch, and 'vanished.'

Well, that went well.

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><p>The Court of Miracles celebrated their victory against Frollo that night. They were loud, their laughter filling the catacombs. Clopin was sure that many of them would be waking up tomorrow with horrible, pounding headaches. He was also sure that they would not bemoan them too much. The party tonight made up for the pain tomorrow.<p>

Esme was off, giggling with a group of the girls, safely guarded by Chante.

Jeanne was sitting on her throne, drinking moodily, and pointedly trying to ignore the numerous young Gypsies and Rogues who all seemed to be madly infatuated with her.

Well, after that dance, Clopin could see how.

She'd been lovely before, he realized, but off limits. He'd never seen her be quite as dramatically female as she was earlier today.

She also looked trapped, and Clopin decided to go and see if he could help save her.

Carefully, he snuck up behind the throne, and tapped her shoulder. All the other boys were glaring at him, especially after she turned, and smiled at him.

"You saved me earlier." He whispered quietly. "Anything I can do to save you?"

She gave him a slow look, before raising and eyebrow.

"Will you forgive me?"

He didn't know what she was thinking, her large blue eyes gave him no hint.

"Yes?"

She twisted around on her throne, and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling Clopin's face towards her and pressing her lips to his. There was a second of silence in the court, before one drunken voice, which sounded suspiciously like Pierre's, yelled out "Good job, Lad!"

There was a roar of laughter, and the mood of the room turned away from them again. Jeanne's admirers dissipated, glaring daggers into the side of Clopin's head. Finally, she pulled away from him, leaving him panting.

She was breathing heavily, too, and her dark cheeks were flushed.

"Thanks, Clopin."

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><p><strong>If I don't update before April 1st, I give you permission to throw pointy things at my skull. really.<strong>


	4. the Incident

**(Two chapters in one week? MADNESS! :P btw, this chapter seems a little different , style-wise, but I like it. reviews are always, always appreciated, in fact they guilt me into writing more.)**

_Bonjour, mon ami. It has been not so long this time, yes? Clopin has more to tell you._

_The years we are skipping were good ones. After that Feast of Fools, our gypsies got bolder, until there was some small victory to celebrate each day. Esmeralda wove the maps for us, obscure enough to outside eyes, but if you knew how to look, you would find. Chante got married, and had a small son of her own. Jeanne ruled the Court, and we all flourished._

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><p>Clopin was out walking the back streets, subtly babysitting Chante's son as he pretended to amble along. He was also thinking. The Court was strong, yes, and working well, but Frollo had somehow managed to conscript more fanatic guards, and even the buskers weren't safe. Jeanne still went out and sang sometimes, and she'd almost been arrested a few days ago. She was twenty one, now, and Esmeralda was seventeen. Both girls were still single, although there were always rumors that Clopin graced one or both of their beds regularly, although he didn't. Clopin himself was nineteen, though he could pass for older, if he chose. Chante still dressed him, and tutted about his thinness. She was doing very well for herself, and was one of the best mothers Clopin had ever seen.<p>

Thinking of Chante reminded him of her son, and he glanced over just in time to see the scamp reach out to touch a silk scarf hanging temptingly. The merchant turned, and Clopin could see him jump to a conclusion. Guards would be on them in seconds.

"Alain!" he cried out, and dashed forward, scooping up the boy as the fat men yelled "Thief!"

Armed men poured out of the market, but Clopin was already running, the boy held carefully in his arms.

He needed somewhere safe.

There! A familiar alley. Alain would know his way back to the Court from here.

"Run!" Clopin whispered, setting the boy down and pushing him.

Then, he turned and ran back into the open, catching the eyes of the guard.

"Stop! Gypsy! Thief!" they yelled as he ran, and all Clopin could think was that his mother had been right. Gypsy would be used as an insult.

They cornered him, ironically enough, on the very spot his mother's house used to be, catching him, and beating him until he lay still. Then, they paraded their new captive back to the jail, throwing him in a cell and leaving. Returning to duties, no doubt. Clopin ached everywhere.

Frollo came to gloat over his new capture, and tell the bleary-eyed boy his punishments. Public whipping, 50 strokes.

He was to made an example before the entire Court, in the square outside Notre Dame.

Clopin couldn't think, really, except to hate the Judge with every ounce of his being.

That hate sustained him through the second beating, all the way out to the platform they'd built.

They stripped his shirt off, in front of the growing crowd. Dark faces peered worriedly up from under hats, hiding in the square. He knew the bruises were obvious. Esmeralda was there, beside Chante and her husband. Alain held her hand.

Jeanne was nowhere to be seen.

He was tied down, back exposed to the jailor's whip. He couldn't help it, his eyes closed against the oncoming pain.

"Halt!"

Jeanne's voice ripped across, the square, turning all heads to her. It was the voice of a Queen.

"This boy has done no crime."

Frollo stared at her, his pale face slowly turning a vivid shade of purple.

"He's a criminal." He finally managed.

"He's innocent." She yelled back, and the crowd muttered, unsure.

"He's ours, now." Clopin felt his heart drop.

"I propose a deal. Release him, and I'll come up and take his place."

There was an outcry from the crowd, every gypsy turning to stare at Jeanne with shock. Frollo just stared.

'Who do you think you are?" some lout in the mob yelled.

"La Reinne des Ennuis." Mutters from the crowd. Some shocked, some exited.

Frollo smiled slowly, and nodded.

"I agree to your terms, Rogue." He turned to the jailor, and nodded towards Clopin.

"Release him."

The rough ropes were loosened, and Jeanne was beside him, ushering him off the platform into Pierre's arms. Pierre, who kept him from falling or running after Jeanne as she turned and marched back up to the platform. Pierre, who held Clopin still and pretended to not notice the tears as the heavy whip fell. Jeanne did not scream, not once, even when her back was a bloody mess and the lash kept falling.

Finally, it was done. Jeanne hung limp against her bonds, as Frollo and his guards rode off. Pierre released Clopin's arms, and the two of them ran to her.

She didn't make a sound as they cut her down, and just whimpered a little when Clopin picked her up.

The Court buzzed. The news had flown throughout Paris. Le Reinne des Ennuis has taken a beating for one of her subjects, one she claimed was innocent. She protected her own. Their numbers were swelling even now, more and more people who had been unsure of the Court were allowing Jeanne's sacrifice for her people decide them.

Some of the newcomers were Gypsies from out of town, some criminals of Paris's streets, and a few were men as dark in skin as Chante and Jeanne themselves.

Chante went to those men, and spoke in something barely above a whisper, in a languade Clopin did not know.

He was waiting near Jeanne's rooms, trying desperately to hear what was going on inside. Three of the most talented women were in their right now, stitching the huge gashes up. Jeanne was talking again, after they'd given her a cup of wine laced heavily with things to numb her skin. She was mumbling about all the things she had to do, still needed to do. Half the time it was in the language Chante spoke with the newcomers.

One of the women opened the door, and gestured him in quickly. Esmeralda sat beside the bed, holding Jeanne's hand. Her back was bandaged, and the bloody stitches and thread lay off to one side. Clopin glanced away, guilt crashing into his mind.

This was all his fault. Jeanne wouldn't be hurt if not for him. She was in pain and it was his fault.

"Don't think that." Jeanne's voice was weak. "This wasn't you."

He wanted to shake his head, to disagree, but he didn't want her to overtax herself arguing with him. Instead, he stepped up to the side of her head, and when she tugged weakly at his hair, kneeled down. She leaned forward, just a little, and pain crossed her face, but she pressed her lips to his forehead.

'Not. Your. Fault."

Jeanne's eyes unfocussed, and she relaxed back onto the pillows, letting go of Esmeralda's hand.

"They just gave her something to make her sleep." His sister told him, tugging him gently out of the room. When he turned to look at her, she could see the raw guilt in his eyes.

"You didn't make her go up there, Clopin. It would have been Alain there if not for you."

He just shook his head, and stalked away, deeper into the Court. Esme watched him go.

Clopin didn't know how long he walked for, but suddenly he realized he was following the sound of someone crying. It sounded like a very young someone.

He turned a corner, and found Alain crouched there, sobbing his young heart out.

"Alain?" The boy looked up, snuffling pathetically.

"What's wrong, petit?" Big, fat tears rolled down the younger boy's face.

"It's my fault."

Clopin sat down beside him, and put an arm around the child's shoulders.

"Non, non, how can it be your fault?" Alain scrubbed at his eyes, before responding.

"I was so worried they was going to hurt you, Jeanne promised you wouldn't get beat at all. So… so it's my fault she went up there." He hiccupped a little, still crying.

Clopin couldn't think of anything to say, just held the younger boy closer to him.

"None of us are to blame, Petit, for all of us were innocent." Big, brown eyes met Clopin's, and he smiled a little into the boy's face. There was a raw hope there, that Clopin would believe what he said, and make it all better.

"Someday, Alain, we won't have to feel guilty for being what we are."

**(Fifth** **and final chapter is on it's way, I promise.)**


	5. An Ending, and a Beginning

_Hello, mon ami, you are here for the last piece of our story, non? Oui, oui, it's coming to an end. Life drifts on, petit. So, the ending._

_Jeanne did not die of her injuries. She ruled the Court for several more years, as she healed. The dark men who had come the night of the beating stayed, and fitted themselves into the Court. Alain grew up far too fast, and Paris teetered unstably between Claude Frollo and the Reinne des Ennuis._

* * *

><p>Clopin shook the box, curious. Something soft flapped against the side. What had Alain made him? He opened it carefully, and smiled at what he saw.<p>

Twelve puppets, all of them people he knew, rested in a jumble in the box. He was on top of the pile, a silly smile on his face. Alain had his mother's skill with fabric, and for a second Clopin's heart clenched, remembering his own mother. But this was the Feast of Fools, and his sorrow was hidden as he scooped up the puppets and grinned at the younger boy.

"These are perfect, Alain. Thank you!"

The boy grinned at him, before grabbing his hand and dragging him outside.

"Wait till you see what Auntie got you!"

A small painted wagon sat in the square, it's colours a little too bright and new. Jeanne leaned against it, smiling.

"Happy Twenty-first Feast of Fools, Clopin."

"A puppet show? All for me?"

She smiled, and the kid tugged him inside, to show him around his stage. Alain had clearly been here before.

Jeanne slipped away, back to the Court.

They were all there, all except Clopin, trying to figure out how to tell him. The Court of Miracles had voted amongst themselves, and decided on something that, Jeanne was sure, Clopin would never forgive her for. He didn't see how important he was, how everyone in the court loved him and his jokes.

"You'll have to tell him, Jeanne. Some time when he can't argue."

She sighed, and nodded.

Later on, after the feast, once the party had returned to the court, Jeanne and Chante stood up on one of the tables and together yelled for silence.

"Gypsies, fools, DRUNKARDS! PAY ATTENTION!"

Laughter and quieting greeted them.

Jeanne started.

"We found a place for rebellion, a place for those who were wrongly hunted to be free. We refused to submit quietly to domination. The people of Paris named me La Reinne des Ennuis, and we the Court of Miracles!"

There was a cheer.

"But I cannot rule forever. I present an admirable Heir, my sister's son, to take the throne when he is ready."

Alain was lifted up on the men's shoulder as they, cheering, sent him up to the table.

"Until my Heir succeeds me, I do not want to rule alone."

Clopin expected her to pull Chante into the spotlight next, or even Esmeralda.

"We need a King!" Pierre yelled, and Jeanne's blue eyes laughed with her smile.

"Just so, My Court of Miracles, where the lamed walk and the dead drink. I present to you the King you have chosen yourself, Clopin Trouillefou, le Roi de Truands!"

* * *

><p><em>And so, that is how I became what I am today. I met a Thief in the marketplace.<em>

_Thank you for hearing my story, friends. Come back for another sometime, yes?_

_Au revoir, petit._

**(Thank you for reading my first Fanfic ever. :) please, enjoy life as you live it!)**


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